a Labyrinth of thoughts

What do you see in this blankness? I want to ask you this so desperately, but your void eyes offer me nothing. Strange things are happening here; it is as if all the blank spaces were not just blank anymore. Sometimes the air here tastes so stale, devoid of any flavor, of life. Everything seems dead at the same time, not. There's no way out of this maze, and the paths I traverse keep shifting until I lay myself to give in to this madness that keeps me sane. I can almost taste the sadness coating my lips; every piece of me is tinged with bitterness, hatred, and apathy, prejudices, harsh treatment, judgment, contempt, guilt, and questions, so many questions that my searching eyes never found answers to.

My tongue feels heavy with a nameless sensation, and it's slowly killing every part of me. It feels like breaking into a thousand pieces and getting swallowed by these voids. The air around me is slowly sucked out, and I am losing breath, suffocating in the quiet walls screaming chaos for a deaf man's ear that seems to be my mind. Does it ever get easy around here? I sometimes wonder, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts. They say home is a person, and sometimes I wish I had one, or ten, but then these homes are not meant to be lived in, for I have seen those haunting eyes as windows that showed me the darkness lying in their cores, forever waiting until someone dares to open these doors only to be swallowed and spit out a mutilated corpse. I sometimes want to tell people not to judge too harshly, for I am only a vessel for what lies inside me.

The shadows that seep through my skin and feed on their brains, the ones holding me captive tied to my feet force me to devour their screams, red nails scraped raw and painted with their blood. Soul-sucking eyes that roam every inch of their skin, pulverizing flesh and leaving jagged scars in their wake. Yet the void in me wants more and more and more. I fill their lungs with smoke trailing down to their fingertips; I carve their hearts out with knives made of unforgiving steel. I burn their flesh with gasoline, fumes mixing into the air, and turning everything toxic to the senses. I don't forget, nor do I forgive. I take and take and take their pain; I relish in the scent of their charred remains. The monster inside me is writhing under my skin, itching to come out and play.

My flesh feels rotten beneath the skin; I can feel the ghosts of moths and fleas chipping away more pieces underneath. Sometimes I want to break open my ribcage and let all the creatures inside me flee. I'm tired of setting traps and falling into my own ones. Sometimes I want to rip away these fancy dresses and settle into my skin, a couple of dad's old t-shirts and worn-out shorts that have seen better days. It feels like finally coming home. It's safe and comforting; a couple of book stacks and a dark corner to hide, it is my safety net. I'm officially disconnected from the outside world, lost in my own peaceful haven. I sometimes sit here and count the number of my heartbeats. It's so quiet in here that I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. It's so terrifying to step out of the net. I can feel the shadows waiting on the corner, for the right moment to pounce and take control. I've been so lenient with the darkness in me that it has created a monster of my own making. I sometimes wish it doesn't have to be me. I sometimes wish I could erase all the terrible things it had done from my memory.

~iniya